


We're living in a dream world

by Small_bump



Category: Emmerdale
Genre: Alternate Universe, And I mean slow, Depictions of Abuse, M/M, Mystery, Science Fiction, abuse is an integral part of this fic be aware, ambiguous disappearance of a character, heavily plot driven, this is slow burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-12
Updated: 2017-09-12
Packaged: 2018-12-26 23:37:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12069285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Small_bump/pseuds/Small_bump
Summary: He shouldn't be drinking. But one can't hurt. Especially after what had happened during his last session.(Alternative Universe, Mystery/Science Fiction.)





	We're living in a dream world

**Author's Note:**

> Hi. Welcome to my new fic, usually, I'm not really one for chaptered fics (of my own) but I thought with the nature of this fic probably reaching 20k+ it would be easier to process in acts. 
> 
> I also wanted to mention, this fic is very plot driven. Meaning, it's not just about the couple, it's about the over arching plot. Lastly, the lore and overall 'idea' of this fic, is not my own it's taken from a book series. But the storyline and original characters are 100% my own.
> 
> Thank you to Mia and Fiona for helping me with this fic. With that out of the way, I hope you enjoy.

 

 

 

 

'It's because the door hasn't been closed yet that the nightmares still find their way in.” ― Joyce Rachelle.

 

 

 

**(Act One)**

 

He shouldn't be drinking. But one can't hurt. Especially after what had happened during his last session. See, dreamhunting has been in the Sugden family business since the government had opened up testing to the public. His grandfather had passed the test with flying colours, climbing the ranks, and worming his way into the elite circle. That was how he'd meet his wife, Robert's grandmother. She'd been the daughter of a politician. Together they had three children, one of them being Robert's father. Dreamhunting was important. It defined who they were as a family. So screwing up wasn't an option, it just wasn't.

He's got his forehead resting in his palm, elbow against the bar, back arched. He's fucked. There's no other way to describe it, he's truly fucked. His rucksack is sitting at his feet. He knows what he should do. Drive till he's well away from this town. Until he's in the middle of nowhere. Dump it, and pretend as if the whole incident hadn't just happened.

That's what he should do. He doesn't though. Instead, he orders himself another drink, rolling his eyes at the raised brow of the bartender, Lewis. People were too nosey for their own good. Whatever Robert was overdoing it for, not only wasn't it any of his business, but it was something Lewis could get into serious trouble for knowing.

"Tsk tsk, you shouldn't be drinking."

Robert knows that voice. he's been in bed with its holder. Rebecca. The youngest of the two White sisters. She's not a dreamhunter. Unlike Chrissie, she didn't have the 'gift.' He knows it pisses her off. Chrissie's the favourite. She's the famous one. She's the woman everyone loves. Robert could see it. He could see the jealousy that shined bright through her eyes. He knew because he too was jealous of a sibling he couldn't compete with. Maybe that's why he had fallen into bed with her.

"Listen, don't take this the wrong way, but piss off."

She laughs, occupying the seat beside him, placing her handbag on the bar. "What other way could I have taken that, but the wrong way?"

Robert sighs, taking a swing from his glass, "I'm just having a rough night. That's all."

"Anything you'd like to share with the class?" she asks, and Robert could tell her. He could unburden himself and take her down with him, but he won't. Not this time.

"No," he says bluntly.

She raises her hands in surrender, leaning against the bar to order herself a drink. Gin and tonic, her staple. "Fair enough."

The bars practically empty, there's just a few strays by the pool table. They'd been playing since Robert walked in. If he was being honest pool bored him. But perhaps that's because he wasn't very good at it. 

"I've got to go," he says quickly, grabbing his glass and downing the remainder of his drink in one swift motion. If he could go back to be being fifteen. If he could tell his younger self that getting tested would end up being one of the worst decisions of his life, he would. Anything to make this situation not be happening right now. Anything.

Once he's placed the glass down, he grabs his rucksack from the floor and heads out the door, muttering a see you later to Rebecca. He puts twenty pounds on the bar to pay for his drinks. As he walks towards his car, he can just see the red light shining from the opening, giving away what's inside the bag. It's not just any normal dream—in fact, it's not a dream at all, it's a nightmare. He was screwed.     

 

-

 

The road's dead. Robert's purposely taking the long route, dodging high-ways, in hopes of his car going through the night unseen. He's meant to check in. He should. It's protocol. After every session, dreamhunters were required to write down a log of the dreams they had seen. On their assigned day, they would relay them to an audience in the dream palace. According to myths, the palace has another name. One that has been interwoven into their history, The Rainbow Opera.

It's pretty much a popularity contest. The better liked and popular a dreamhunter is, the more performances they're given. It's not just about the gift. That's part of it, one needs to be able to entertain the crowd. To use words. To describe the more, often than not, magnificent dreams they have seen. That's the real gift.

If Robert doesn't check in by ten tomorrow morning, there are going to be questions. Questions that require answers that Robert just doesn't have. He doesn't know why he was drawn to the nightmare. Why he felt compelled towards it. It was as if he wasn't in control of his own body anymore. His limbs had developed a mind of their own and there was no stopping them.

When he thinks about the nightmare, his hands shake. He's heard rumours of dreamhunters turning mad over nightmares. Too caught up in the horrible details to be drawn out of it. Robert thinks that's why he did it. Stole the nightmare. Because what he'd experienced was too painful. Too disgusting to put into words. He feels wrong even thinking about it. His stomach twists and turns in knots, and he feels as though he's going to throw up.

He turns on the radio. Lets the Arctic Monkeys fill the car and drown out his thoughts. He just wants to stop thinking about it. Instead, he thinks about what would happen if his father found out. If he went to him. If he asked for help. He'd probably turn Robert in himself. He wouldn't help, he would recuse Robert from the mess he'd currently found himself in. He's not Andy.

That's the reason, his father had protected Robert from what happened to Katie. Because he was afraid Andy would have been implicated too. They can't have that. Katie had been an accident. They could have told the truth, but that idea had soon been belted out of him.

'Lips sealed to the grave, boys.'

He still thinks about Katie's mother. Thinks about the answers he could give her, but never did. She'd died of a broken heart. That's what everyone around the village had said. Gossiping things that couldn't help but feed his guilt. The day after her funeral, Robert had packed his bags and driven as far away from Emmerdale as he could. Maybe if he ran fast enough his demons wouldn't catch him.

 

-

 

It's late, when Robert pulls up to his flat, parking in his regular spot. He grabs his rucksack from the back seat, and heads inside, for once he's actually glad that the street lamp's out. It's been months, the streets rang the council, god knows how many times. But they were always met with the same line, they're 'working on it'. Which was obviously code for, 'losing this number and fuck off'. But tonight, the dark street hid his entrance. So he's grateful that no one at the council seemed to know how to do their jobs right.

"Rob," Henry greets as the lift doors open.

"What are you doing heading out this late at night?" Robert asks.

Henry lives in the flat on the opposite side of the landing from Robert. His sixty-eight and usually would have been in bed by now with a steaming cup of tea. Instead, he's standing in the lift, grey jumper buttoned up, slippers on. Robert likes Henry. He doesn't ask questions, minds his own, he was kind enough to let Robert leave a spare key at his, in case Robert came home drunk and couldn't find his own. It didn't happen often, but Robert's, nothing without a breakdown or twenty, every so often.

"It's Jasmine, she's been arrested again."

"I don't get why her parents can't bail her out."

"It's complicated," Henry says, stepping out of the lift. "They don't talk much since she turned eighteen. The kid's got no one else."

Robert clutches his bag. He knows the feeling. "She's lucky to have you."

"It's what family does."

It stings, and all Robert can do is nod, giving Henry the best smile he can muster. He steps into the lift, pressing the number four, glad when the doors shut. He guesses that is what family does. His dad would do it for Andy. Just not for him.

Once he's inside, he places the rucksack by his bed, toeing off his shoes and crawling above the covers. It's been a day, and it's finally hitting him, how tired he is. He opens the nightstand drawer, pulling out his laptop.

He has to tell them something. Anything. He can't report back to the council. That's basically admitting his guilt, and Robert's got too much self-preservation to do that. It's suicide, and Robert's not stupid. But what the fuck is he going to tell them?

There's no other way around it, he's going to have to lie. Not utterly shocking for him, but Robert's been trying to be better since Katie. Trying and failing for the most part. But trying none the less. He's going to have to. Before he'd been drawn to the nightmare, Robert had experienced a fantastic dream, one he knows any audience would awe at. He'll put that in the report, and leave out the bit about the nightmare until he can get rid of it. He's not sure how, but if there is way, he'll find it. He has to.

He pulls his laptop until it's between his legs, and opens the lid, the brightness of the screen making him blink in contrast to the darkness of the room. He clicks on Chrome, brings up his Gmail, and starts composing a new email. He cracks his fingers and begins to write. Uses every skill he's ever learnt over the years as a dreamhunter to make the dream sound as exciting, and magnificent as possible.

Because if they are concentrating on the dream, they wouldn't have time to look into anything else. He reads it twice, just to make sure, before hitting send, letting out the breath of air he had been holding. God, he hopes it's enough.

 

-

 

_"Come out here now, damn it," the voice thunders, and he can't breathe. He's in the closet, door shut, heart pounding against his chest. There's footsteps walking towards him and all he can do is draw his knees close to his chest and try not to make a sound._

_"You're only making things harder for yourself, Aaron."_

_The footsteps become louder and louder, and then they just stop. It's an eerie silence. It captures the moment, until suddenly the doors are ripped open, and he screams._

 

"No!" he shouts, springing up into a sitting position. He's drenched in sweat. His t-shirt is soaked through. There's a red light in the corner of his eyes. It's the nightmare. He wonders if somehow it's affecting his dreams. Usually, the only way to experience dreams is to go through the passage, Robert's never heard of someone harvesting a nightmare and taking it with them. There isn't a Wikipedia page on how this works. 

He needs to get rid of this thing fast. Turning to the window, he notices it's morning. The sun is peeking through the curtains. He scratches his head, then uses the base of his palm to rub the tiredness from his eyes.

Robert gets up, splashes water on his face, and heads into the kitchen. He flicks on the radio, before opening the fridge.

_It's time for a little Dreamhunter news. Chrissie White is set to perform at the Palace of Dreams on the 24th. This will mark her fifth performance in a month. A record—_

"Show off," he mutters, unscrewing the lid from the orange juice bottle and taking a swig. He'd actually met Chrissie first, at some council function, but she hadn't been interested. A first for Robert. He'd laid on the charm, but she simply rolled her eyes and sipped away at her champagne.

_'You're too young for me kid.'_

Robert's ego had been bruised, but he'd later found out Chrissie had a son. A seven year old. So Robert dodged a bullet there, he didn't need that sort of baggage weighing him down.

Setting the bottle on the counter, Robert picks up his phone, scrolling through his contacts until he lands on the one he's looking for. Ross. Usually, he'd rather tear out his own eye sockets with a spoon, then call the middle Barton brother for advice, but he's desperate. If it's dodgy or illegal, Ross was the guy to go to.  

Robert hopes he's forgotten the punch, a nasty one, by what Robert remembers. Ross had a mouth, and sometimes, Robert couldn't control his fists. One taunt about Andy and he was hurling it at Ross's face, hoping to do some damage. 

He taps to call, it rings twice, before Ross answers with a hello.

"It's uh me, Robert Sugden. Listen I know—"

"You've got some nerve calling me, mate. After you decked me in the face."

"Believe me, I wouldn't have, if I had any other choice."

"Oh, need help do we?" Robert can imagine his smirk at the other end of the line, his enjoying this. Robert could hear it in the tone of his voice.

"Look, can we meet? I'll pay ya."

"Fine. I'll text you the address. Bring a pack of beers, and it better not be the cheap stuff. I know you're flush, Sugden."

"I'm not. But fine."

 

-

 

The meetup point ends up being on the south side of the city, in some storage estate Robert's never heard of. He usually wouldn’t be caught dead in a place like this. But he's got his back up against a wall. He doesn't have a choice. He parks on the street. It's pretty empty, but Robert's hyper aware of the surveillance on him, as he crosses the street and enters the estate.

He walks along the storage units, until he arrives at what he's looking for. Storage unit 164.

"Barton," he calls out. Adjusting the strap of his rucksack from falling off his shoulder.

"He's running late."

It's Finn, the youngest of the three brothers, and nothing like Ross. He nervously pushes his glasses further up the bridge of his nose, staring at Robert.

"Running late? Are you kidding me?"

Finn shrugs. "You know what he's like."

Swallowing hard, Robert looks up at Finn. He reads. Out of the three, he's definitely the brains of the bunch. Not that Ross or Pete aren't smart. But that's more street smart than intellectual smart. He would know. 

"Finn," he says slowly, approaching the coach, and taking a seat on the arm. "You read all a lot, don't ya?"

"With a love life as unimpressive as mine, you bet I do."

Robert chuckles, "You've never stumbled upon anything about nightmares have you?"

"There's not much to stumble upon mate if I'm being honest. Just that Dreamhunters aren't supposed to go anywhere near them."

"That's it?"

"Like I said, there isn't much to read. The rest is, all myths and rumours. You should see what they say in the forums. That stuff is mental."

"What do you mean?"

"Apparently," Finn starts, lowering his voice, as if even just talking about it, could get into him into trouble. "Years ago, a Dreamhunter went through the passage and experienced one. It was bad. So bad that the council wouldn't even release what they'd seen. Long story short, he went starking mad. Couldn't even eat or sleep apparently. Just kept wanting to go back through the passage."

"To the nightmare?"

"Apparently he said he'd been drawn to it. Whatever that means."

Robert pales, fingers tightening around the strap. "Interesting," he chokes out, sweat beginning to form in the crease of his brow.

"Are you alright?"

No. "Yeah, 'course. Look, when's Ross getting back? I bought him his stupid beers."

"Lemme text him and ask."

Robert didn't have time for this. What was Ross playing at? Huffing, he opens the flap to his rucksack pulling out the carton of beers he'd bought from the mini mart, on the corner of his street.

"Mate," Finn whispers. Robert looks up to find he's no longer staring at his phone, he's staring directly in his direction, not at him, at his bag. "Why is your stuff glowing?"

"I um—I can explain."

"Please tell me you didn't."

They stare at each other for a moment, and Robert's not sure what to do. Finn's smart, he's not going to buy some lie Robert tosses together. No matter how good he was at it. Not after they'd just had a full on conversation about the damn thing.

_Shit._

"I'm here Sugden, what do you want?" Ross announces, walking into the unit with some cheap pair of knock off sunglasses on. "What?" Ross asks, eyes shifting between them.

"He's got a nightmare in there," Finn exclaims, pointing his finger at Robert's rucksack.

"Hilarious Finn. Not even Sugden's that stupid."

"I'm not kidding around. Look for yourself. What the hell is wrong with you?! Everyone learns in school, that the first rule of Dreamhunting is not to go near a nightmare. You’re shit at your job."

Ignoring Finn's outburst, Robert turns to Ross. "That's why I'm here, I need someone who can get rid." 

"Ross no—" 

"Finn, the adults are talking now. You know me, Sugden. So, start talking cash." 

"I'll give you a grand. No two! please! We all know what's at stake if anyone finds out."

"King. He'll know what to do with it, I can get you a meeting, but you've got to make it there on your own. And if we get caught out, I'll throw you under the bus in a heartbeat, deal?"

"Fine."

 

-

 

Robert's in the car, engine running, rucksack in his lap, flap open. It's a red ball of light, almost like a round cloud. Usually, in the passage, they'd walk straight by them, consumed by the energy and transported in the dream. He'd never touched anything in the passage before. He never even knew he could. In school, a part of social studies was dedicated to the rules of Dreamhunting. Every child learns the basics, unless they were from some religious group, who thought Dreamhunting was the devil's work. It happened. Robert had a friend, Elle. She'd have to sit in the library during that part of the class, immensely jealous of the other kids. He used to write her little notes in class, so she could participate with the rest of them. Until her parents found out and had her change schools. Robert didn't see her much after that. Then, when her father got transferred across the country, her mum and she went too. They lost contact after that.

Robert thinks about her sometimes, when he thinks about his childhood, and his mum.

_"But, why don’t Elle's mum and dad like us?" his seven-year-old self had asked his mum after Elle's father had stormed onto the farm, enraged over Robert's notes. "I thought I was helping. She wanted to know."_

_His mum had sighed, bending her knees so she was level with him, from where he sat at the kitchen table. "Some people don't think Dreamhunting is a good thing. They think dreams are private. Only meant by God for the person having them."_

_"But," Robert had protested, "dreams are meant to be shared. That's what dad says."_

_"Not everyone thinks that way, darling."_

He stares down at the ball of light. The nightmare. It wasn't someone's fear. Well, it was. But it wasn't someone terrified of heights, of spiders. This person was scared of a person. Maybe that's why he was drawn to the nightmare. Maybe it was up to him to find this person and help them.

The passage, another dimension of sorts, is able to regenerate daily. It's the reason Dreamhunters never experience the same dream twice. This nightmare had to be fresh. Whatever happened, this person, Aaron, his brain supplies, is still in torment. Whether that person was still around or not, there had to be a reason why he was drawn to it. There just had to be.

His phone begins to ring from where it's stored on the passenger seat. He picks the device up, glad to see it's only Henry calling.

"Hey, Henry. What's up?"

"Robert, you need to get home now," Henry says panicked, on the other side of the line. His breathing sounds laboured, Robert knows he's got a dodgy lung from the war. Having been shot during a rescue mission in France.

"Hold on. What's wrong?"

"These two guys. They look like coppers, but they're not wearing uniforms. They knocked on my door, looking for you. I said—said you weren't home. So they knocked down your door."

"Henry, listen to me," Robert says slowly, making sure the man understands. "Hang up, delete this phone call from your log, and pretend you don't know me."

"Rob—"

"Please," he begs, cutting him off, "Hang up now."

He does. The line goes dead a second later. Robert shoves his mobile into the shelf built into his dashboard. He then revs up the engine and makes a mad dash down the street towards his flat.

 

-

 

When Robert steps out of his car, the first thing he notices is he the black van parked outside his flat. Here's the thing, the government's all about transparency, or at least they try to look as though they care about it. During his last session, Robert had heard chatter from other Dreamhunters. It's not the first time someone's brought up the topic of a secret unit that deals with Dreamhunter related issues. But the government has always been adamant there's no such thing. Robert's not surprised they've been lying all this time. It's what they do.  

He goes around the back. The flat's old enough that it's got a service entrance. Nobody really uses it, because there's only a flight of stairs, no lift. The building at twenty floors. Robert couldn't imagine anyone volunteering to climb up twenty flights of stairs on a daily basis. He quietly turns the door handle. When he enters the service entrance, it's quiet. Perhaps too quiet. He's left the nightmare in the boot of the car. Carrying around the evidence wasn't a good idea. He climbs up the stairs, back against the wall, so he can't be seen by anyone looking down from a higher floor.

He needs his laptop. His life's on that thing. Notes, thoughts, things he doesn't want anyone to know. When he reaches the fourth floor, he waits a moment, pressing his ear to the door to make sure there's no one walking by. When he's satisfied, he cracks the door open and walks into the hall. From his periphery vision, he can see that his doors been forced open. He's not going to get his deposit back, that's for sure. They've got to still be in the flat. Basically, Robert's screwed. Slowly he makes his way towards the front door, heart slamming against his chest.

When he stands in front of the entrance, he sees the back of two men, dressed in black, making no effort to conceal their weapons, guns.

"Gentlemen," Robert address. Taking them by surprise may be the best chance he's going to get. He manipulates his keys, until the sharp edges are between his fingers, behind his back. He needed some sort of protection.

"Mr Sugden, glad you could join us."

"You guys have a warrant to break into my flat."

"Let's just say our unit doesn't need a warrant."

Of course not. His laptop's in the bedroom stashed away in the nightstand. He's got no fucking clue, how he's going to get to the backroom, to be honest, he's got no fucking clue, how he's going to get out of here at all. But he needs that laptop.

"What unit would that be?"

"It's on a need to know basis."

"You're standing in my flat, and you don't think I need to know?"

The copper, because they may not be dressed like cops, but they're cops. The one who's been talking to Robert all this time laughs, hand travelling down his body to sit firmly on his gun.

"Don't worry about it."

It happens in a flash. Robert's eyes fall to this guy's hand. Two against one, two men, with guns against Robert and, a set of keys. Fuck it. He runs. Runs and doesn't look back until he's in the bedroom, slamming the door shut, and turning the lock. He moves the dresser, so it's blocking the door, giving him a fraction of extra time, before they break the it down to get to him. He goes to his nightstand, pulls out his laptop, and hugs it to his chest, racing to the window. His best shot is climbing down the fire escape, and onto the street, his car's parked right by the building.

"Don't be stupid Sugden, you're just making this harder."

('You're only making things harder for yourself Aaron.')

He lets out a shaky breath, forcing the window open. He stares down at the fire escape. It's old. Hasn't been used in years. "Now is not the time to be second guessing yourself," he whispers to himself. There's a bang. They're trying to force their way into the room and Robert's out of time. He climbs over the window frame, fingers tightly holding onto his laptop, as he jumps onto the fire escape, feeling it rattle with his weight. He's darting down the stairs, when from the corner of his eye, he sees one of them. The guy who hadn't spoken, looks out the window, spotting him. Robert sees the silver side of his gun, before looking forward and running.

Bang, to one side of him. Then another bang, aimed for his feet. He just about manages to avoid the bullets being hurled at him, jumping from the escape, and into the alley. He turns to the opening of the street, and he's standing there, Mister dressed in black, laughing at this whole fucked up situation, gun pointed straight at him.

"You played a good game Sugden. But it's over."

Robert swallows, "Okay." He resigns, "Just don't shoot me, please."

Robert remains planted in his place, as the man walks toward him, gun still pointed at Robert's chest. He's in front of Robert, in two strides, using the side of the gun to slam against Robert's temple, making the former stumble backwards in pain. "That's for giving us the runaround."

"Sorry," Robert mumbles voice strained, "For that, and for this."

He painfully stands up straight, then plunges the keys, which are still snug between his knuckles, into the guy's stomach, making him shout from shock. He lets go of the keychain, taking the opportunity to run down the alley, and onto the street.  

  

-

 

Robert's in the back seat, laying down on his back, his legs bend because he's too damn tall. His hair's still wet, he'd driven to a service station, bought something to eat, and used the restroom to wash the blood from his hair. He's still trying to figure how they knew, it couldn't have been Ross, Robert hadn't even wired him the money yet, the younger lad was a lot of things, but stupid wasn't one of them. Not about this — not when money was concerned. Really, it could have been anyone, for all he knows it could have been a Dreamhunter in the session with him. He hadn't exactly been careful when he'd left the passage, too terrified and shocked at what he'd just done.

Sighing Robert sits up, blinking back tiredness. He hasn't had a proper night's sleep in days and his back is aching. He wants his bed, as pathetic as it sounds, he just wants to go home. Even if it was just an overpriced flat, in an overrated building. He'd moulded and shaped that place into somewhere he almost felt like he belonged. He can't go back now, his stuff's probably been packed up into boxes and taken into evidence. Everything he'd built was gone.    

He doesn't know what his next move is, but he knows where he wants to go. Victoria. Her name pops into his mind, forces his mouth to smile, at the thought of his baby sister. When he'd left Emmerdale, she was a kid, all she cared about was sleepovers and horse riding. She'd be a woman now, they talk―well more like text every once in a while, because Robert never quite knows what to say.

'I'm sorry for leaving,' is what he wants to say, but he can never find the words, sometimes, he'll type it out, will himself to apologise for not being the brother she deserved. She had Andy, of course she did, but it was meant to be him. He was meant to be there for her, watching her grow, offer her support and he just couldn't. He'll always be sorry, she'll just never know how much.

He lifts his fingers to his head, touching the open wound on his temple. It wasn't that bad, but there had been blood. It's a good thing though, Robert remembers from his biology GCSE, that the more blood there was, the less chance there was of an infection because it would effectively flush out the toxins. At least that class had turned out useful after all.

He wants to go home, back to the beginning, back before everything was so fucked up, back before Katie had died.

 

-

 

It's raining by the time Robert pulls up the farm, hard, pelting down on the windscreen, like a sign from the gods. That's where most people believe the passage came from, an act of God, or Gods, depending on where one lived in the world. Some believed it was meant to be shared, others believed it was an invasion of privacy, an act against God. Robert didn't know which he believed in—it should be obvious to him, but it's not and it's never been. 

He gets out of the car, the rain soaking him in the seconds, he doesn't stand a chance. By the time his standing at the door, he’s soaked through to the bone, a shivering mess. He's not stood here, shoes dirtying his mum’s welcome mat, in seven years. Practically a life time ago. It would take them a while before they found him here, his estrangement towards his family was hardly a secret, in fact, it was common knowledge among their crowd. No one would expect that Robert would go home, would seek refuge with his family.

'I'd rather tear out my own eyes than go home,' is what he had said to Rebecca when she'd asked why he wasn't spending Christmas with his family. No— they would search virtually everywhere else first. It gave him time. At least he hoped.

He knocks, steals himself, and waits. He hopes Victoria answers or mum, anyone but—

"Rob," Andy says, stunned. Of course.

Robert shuffles on his feet. "Hey Andy," he says awkwardly, eyes glued on the floor.

"Get in here, you're soaking."

He does, stepping through the threshold, warmth enveloping him. From what he can see, the house hasn't changed much, it's maybe gonna need a coat of paint or two but the furniture's the same. It's home

"Is anyone else home?" 

"Disappointed it's just me, huh?"

"No, I was just hoping mum was home is all."

Andy tilts his head to the side, eyes trying to suss Robert out. If only he knew. "Victoria and mum are gone for the weekend to visit gran, dad's at the pub—what's happened to your head?"

Robert feels his chin wobble, he doesn't want to do this. Cry, in front of Andy and prove what his dad's always known, his brother was stronger—is stronger, will always be stronger. "I..." he chokes out, fingers gliding over the surface of the entrance table. He is weak because he just wants his mum and she's not here, Andy is and it's not the same. It's not what he wants.

"I just," he tries again "it's been day—no a couple of days actually."

Andy nods, he looks concerned, he was always nicer than Robert, the good brother. He walks over to him, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder "I'll make us a brew, yeah? You'll feel better once you're warmed up."

He smiles muted, he doesn't ask why, and Robert's grateful. He eyes the laptop open on the sofa, heartbeat picking up speed, "did you have a session today?"

"Just got back twenty minutes ago, I'll tell you all about it while the kettle boils."

"Great."

 

-

 

"Do you ever think about Katie?" he asks, out of nowhere, surprising even himself. Robert hasn't talked about her in years, she's just part of his past, one has been trying desperately to forget. But the last couple of the days, have scratched away at him, and everything has been trying too hard to put behind him as come flooding back and Andy, he’s the only one that maybe understands.

They’re sitting on the couch, a space between, and Robert's got the quilt he knows his mum keeps thrown over the sofa to hide the damp stain that's been there as long as Robert can remember, thrown over his shoulders, clutching at the fabric, as though it could somehow protect him from what's happening, what Andy's going to say next.

"Yeah," Andy mumbles, "all the time, especially during the holidays." 

"I've been thinking about her a lot lately, about what happened that day."

One moment she'd been there, the three of them had been laughing, fooling around like teenagers do, acting like normal kids. It had been Andy's idea and then—she was gone. Just gone.

"If I could take it back, I would, you know. If I hadn't been so keen on impressing her, if I hadn't run my mouth—but I can't take it back, and I've had to find a way to live with that."

"How?"

"My kids, my job, the life I've carved out for myself, it hasn’t been easy, but I've tried to move on."

"I wish I could move on, I thought I had but now. I'm just not so sure."

Andy places his mug on the coffee table, biting his lip, as if contemplating something, before asking "why are you here Rob? It's been years."

He could tell him, share his burden with his brother, but Robert knows Andy won't be on his side, he'll turn him in, of course he would. He'd run off, tell their dad, and Robert would be sitting in a prison cell in no time. No, Robert wanted to sleep in his own bed, to curl up under the covers, in the one space he ever felt truly safe.

"I needed to come home," he chooses instead because in part it is true. He does need to be here, or at the very least he feels as though he does.

"Alright," Andy says slowly, and Robert knows he doesn't believe him, Robert's lied enough times that he understands why he doesn't. Fair enough. "Let's get some kip yeah? It's late, and I've got an early start on the farm tomorrow. I've texted dad and told him you're here."

"What did he say?"

"Nothing, you know him, he hates texting, says our generation's got too lazy, no doubt he'll want a word tomorrow, though."

Just what Robert needed.

 

-

 

There's a post-it-note stuck on the fridge, a bright blue colour that catches Robert's eyes when he tiredly enters the kitchen. It's in Andy's sloppy writing and Robert's relieved. They’re out working in the fields today, Robert's got a bit of time before he has to face his father, time to think of a believable enough excuse as to why he'd just up and left his flat in the city and come home, after years.  

So he ends up in the café, the owner, Bob still remembers him, even smiles, and welcomes him home. At least he is happy to see him.

"Just leave it," a voice barks, it startles Robert from where he’s sitting on one of the sofas, scrolling through his timeline, hoping to not see his face splashed on the news. The voice, belongs to a girl in her teens, blonde, face like thunder, looking about as happy as a wet blanket. She marches through the cafe, straight up to the counter, giving her back to the person who had walked in behind her, who she'd been yelling at. Robert presumes from his age, it's her dad, probably just had a row, like teenagers and parents did, like he used to, a lot. 

"Olivia—"

('You're only making things harder for yourself Aaron.')

"How many times, dad, it's Liv."

That voice, it's got his hands shaking, spilling coffee onto himself. Robert stares, he knows he shouldn't, it's him, or at least it sounds like him—it couldn't be, it just couldn't. This wasn't happening, the reason for whoever—for Aaron to be having that terrifying nightmare couldn't be standing in Bob's cafe, he just couldn't be.

"You're being ridiculous you know?  Just because A—"

"Just BECAUSE? You've practically run him out the village, if he won't come, then I don't want to have it at all."

"I'll talk to him. I swear, love."

A? A. Oh god, it just can't be.

"Pet?"

When Robert snaps out of his fear induced haze. A woman's face in his line of vision, Brenda, Bob's wife, is staring down at him. He follows her eyes to his lap, to the wet spot that has formed on his crotch, it looks at those his wet himself, and with him, in the same room as Robert, he might as well have.

"Do you need a tissue?"

"Ta."

She reaches into her apron, pulling out a wad of paper, handing it to Robert. "Are you alright?" she asks a frown forming. She's a gossip, the entire village knows it. No doubt by tomorrow half the village will think he's gone mad in the cafe, for no apparent reason.

"I'm fine," he says, clearing his throat. He uses the tissue paper to clean the coffee that had spilled onto his arm. He stares directly at the pair. At him.

"I've got nothing else to say, dad," Olivia-no Liv, sighs resting her elbow on the counter.

"I'll fix it, I promise, love," he says and turns in Robert's direction. For a second their eyes meet. Robert can't breathe. He doesn't pay Robert any mind though. Just pats Liv on the shoulder and walks out the café. Not realising that he’s left Robert shaking.

 

 -

 

53.800755, that's the coordinates to King's location. Thursday, 6 pm. Don't be late Sugden or I swear to god.  (From RB, Received at 01:03 am)

 

-

 

_"Get out here now. You waste of space."_

_His being pulled. A hand is tugging roughly at his sleeve, trying to pull him out of the wardrobe. Out of the safe space, he'd borrowed for himself. The hand continues to pull until he falls, his knee caps slamming against the floorboards._

_"God, why do you have to make everything harder than it needs to be uh? Answer me dammit. ANSWER—"_

 

"Robert, son."

Robert jumps, Jack's hands still on his shoulders. He'd shaken Robert awake. Maybe he is going crazy. The nightmares in the closet, how ironic. There's nothing he can do until Thursday but wait. That's five days of doing nothing. Unless the nightmare takes him before then.

"Sorry," he mumbles, rubbing his face with the palm of his hand. He'd laid down for a nap, seeing him at the Cafe had tired him out. When Robert had managed to compose himself enough to pay and leave, it had been nearly twenty minutes later. It had taken another ten, to get his hands to stop shaking.

His dad takes a step back, eyeing him in a way that makes Robert feel self-conscious and exposed.

"We should have a chat."

It's the moment Robert's been dreading. Andy was one thing, his dad was another. God, he wishes his mum was here.

"Yeah 'course," he agrees, sitting up. He rests his head against the back of the sofa, fingers playing with the hem of his shirt.

Jack takes a seat on the arm chair, as always. Some things never change, he supposes. "I haven't told your mum you’re back yet," he opens with. "I didn't want to get her hopes up and have you leave before she gets back. It would break her heart."

"I'm not leaving-not yet, anyway."

"Has something happened?"

"No, 'course not. Why would you ask that?"

"Well, Andy said you'd turned up in a right state, and then there's your head. It looks like someone's hit you."

"Look I got into a fight alright, I know I shouldn't have. And I'm back because I missed home. It's hardly a crime."

"Robert, you've not been home in seven years, are you—"

"And whose fault is that?"

He snaps. Because that's just what he does. Robert likes to convince himself he's not been back home because of Andy. But he knows that's not true. His dad's the reason he's avoided Emmerdale like it was the black plague.

"I never told you not to visit."

"Not in so many words. You just told me if I couldn't handle Katie's death, it would be better if I left. Bet mum doesn't know that, does she?"

"Robert," Jack sighs. It's that tone. The one he reserved just for him. His disappointed tone. He always seemed to know when to whip it and make Robert feel like shit.

He stands from the sofa, flattening his shirt. "I'm going for a walk."

 

-

 

He walks into the village. It gives him time to clear his head. His dad had let him go, hadn't put up a fight. It's what Robert does, isn't it? Run? God, he's tired of it. Tired of running. But he doesn't know how to do anything else. Doesn't know any other way to protect himself.

"Sugden! I heard you were back."

Daz, all grown up and grinning back at him from across the village square. He'd become like Andy's adopted little brother over the years. Ever since he'd caught the younger lad stealing from the farm because his mum couldn't afford to feed him. It had turned out he was in Victoria's year at school. Andy had been the one to convince Jack to give Daz a part time job. They've been close ever since. And Andy's tried to keep Daz on the straight and narrow. Even offered him a full-time job on the farm when he left school.

Robert's surprised he hasn't seen him before. But then, he'd been avoiding the fields at all cost. He can't take the memories.

"Alright? It's been a while mate."

"A while? Talk about the biggest understatement of the year."

Robert laughs. He lets himself be pulled in for a one arm hug, patting Daz on the back in return.

"Where you headed?" Daz asks.

Robert pulls back, rubbing his upper arm. He shrugs, "nowhere, just felt like a walk if I'm honest."

"Mate. You've got come into the pub for a drink. That's where I'm headed. I'm meeting Andy in there, and a couple of other lads."

"I don't know Daz, I'm not really feeling up to it."

"Come on, please."

Even though he didn't want to, Robert found himself agreeing because he just couldn't say no. And to be honest, a pint didn't sound half bad right now. All he had to do was sit there, and make small talk. Robert could small talk in his sleep. Even in his current state, it shouldn't be too difficult. So Robert finds himself being lead through the pub to a crowded table.

"Alright lads. Where's Andy?" Daz asks, shoving one of the lads who huffs. Robert can tell it's put on though. 

"Gone to the bog," another lad answers. Sitting in the middle of the crowd. "Who's this then?" he adds, head gesturing towards Robert.

Robert feels awkward, standing there, being ogled out by three strangers. The pub itself hadn't changed. But the people in it had. There were one or two familiar faces. But the rest were all new to him. He guessed time did that. People move on.

'Robert, Andy and Vic's brother."

"Ah! Mystery sibling, grab a chair," the first bloke says. He uses his foot to shove out slightly one of the chair's that was vacant. "I'm Adam, that's Jackson and the one sulking is Aaron."

Aaron?

"Tell one more person I'm sulking Adam, I dare ya."

"Don't shot the messenger mate, I'm just trying to get you to snap out of it."

"There's nothing to snap out of, I'm fine."

"Sure, mate," Adam says. He snaps his fingers to grab Robert's attention. He's gotten lost in their banter. Lost in the fact that this lad’s name is Aaron and could it be? He hopes not, he doesn't wish what he'd experienced on anyone, not even his worst enemy. "Sit. We don't bite."

"Well actually, Jackson kinda does. But don't worry, you're not his type," Daz says.

"Oi! You don't know that" Jackson teases, throwing Robert a wink.

Robert smiles. He can take a joke, even if it's about that. But he’s nervous, to say the least so he knows his smile is coming off a little forced. But they don't seem to notice. Too caught up in their own banter.

"I'll get another round in, shall I?" Robert asks.

"Cheers mate," Jackson grins, elbowing Aaron in the stomach "Aaron will help ya."

"Excuse me?" Aaron snorts. He rubs at his stomach, giving Jackson a kick. "If you think he can't hack it, you help."

"It's alright," Robert buts in, shaking his head "I can hack it."

"Don't be rude, Aaron."

"Yeah Aaron," Adam repeats, following Jackson's lead "help the lad out."

"Fine," Aaron snaps, standing up from the table. "Jesus, you two on something or what?"

Robert leads the way to the bar, eyes trying subtly to suss Aaron out. He's a good-looking lad, Robert can't deny it. He doesn't look like he's been abused. But then again, Robert knows more than anyone how looks can be deceiving.

"Sorry about them lot, they can be a handful at the best of times."

Robert smiles, pulling out his wallet from his back pocket. "Don't worry about it, it's actually nice. You all seem pretty close."

"Yeah known them lot for ages, since I moved here with my family."

"Oh yeah where you guys living?"

"Here."

Robert does a double take, "here as in the pub?"

Aaron laughs, at Robert's shocked expression. "Yeah, my parents bought the pub off Diane when she decided to help Eric and Val run the B&B."

"Does this mean you can get us free drinks?"

"Mate, I wish."

He’s so caught up his almost forgotten, almost. Until the pub doors swing open, and the same blonde girl – Liv – walks in. She searches the place until her eyes fall to Aaron, a grin spreading across her face.

"Aaron! I knew I'd find ya in here," she calls, waving him over.

Shit.

"Sorry mate, give me a second that's my little sister."

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Come find on tumblr @victoriasugden


End file.
